


Downtime

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [12]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime

A sharp crack of thunder woke Clint from a deep sleep. 

He’d been dreaming of Loki.  An unsettling dream of having lost the god, and searching in vain for him.  Running through a dark forest, walled on all sides by thick vegetation, and _knowing_ that Loki was near…but unable to find him.  Clint’s dream-self was on the verge of panic when he’d woken, and he turned his gaze to the empty spot next to him.

"Loki," he called, an edge of apprehension in his voice.

"Here," came a voice from the darkness, and then the sky lit up, silhouetting the god peering out the window into the driving rain.

Clint scrubbed his palms over his eyes and shoved himself upright.  “Is it Thor,” he asked hesitantly.

"No," Loki sighed.  "Simply a spring shower."

The archer climbed from the bed and crossed the room to stand at the god’s side.  He cast a sideways look at the mournful expression twisting Loki’s features before he murmured, “It’s only been a couple days.  Try not to worry.”

"Easier said than done, I am afraid," Loki replied and moved closer to Clint, leaning heavily against his side.  "Perhaps, if the answer I sought were a bit less imperative, then I could set aside my apprehension."

"Gotcha," Clint nodded, and slipped one arm around Loki’s middle, pulling him closer still.  "What time is is, anyway?"

"Nearly dawn," the god answered.

"Might as well stay up, then.  Pretty sure I’m done sleeping for the night." 

"As am I," Loki huffed.  "My dreams were less than amiable, and I have no desire to return to them."

"I’ll make coffee," Clint said and pressed a quick kiss to Loki’s temple before heading toward the kitchen, leaving the god to stare vacantly into the driving rain.

He didn’t need the lights to see where he was going, and when Clint entered the kitchen, he found the coffee simply by feel.  His brow furrowed in a frown as he blinked his eyes into focus.  It seemed to take longer as the days went on, the tunnel of his vision constricting tighter and tighter.  He tried not to let it bother him as he went about brewing the coffee, but the heavy weight of dread, coupled with the frantic helplessness of his dream, wouldn’t completely leave his mind.

When Loki followed him into the kitchen a few minutes later, he saw Clint perched on one of the tall chairs at the sideboard, his palms pressed firmly into both of his eyes. 

"Clint?" he called, trying to keep the worry from his voice.

"Hn?"  Clint looked up, blinking bleary, bloodshot eyes until he could focus on Loki’s approaching figure.  "Hey, coffee’s almost ready."

Loki made a small sound of acknowledgement, though coffee was not what drew him to Clint’s side.  The set of his shoulders and the cadence of his breathing had Loki’s full attention. 

The past few days, as they awaited Thor’s return and the All-Father’s answer, had been tense, and neither of them was handling the wait very well.  Clint was unused to sitting in idleness; he itched to _do_ something, to move with some kind of purpose.  He put Loki in mind of a caged predator, not simply content to be fed; he wanted to _hunt_.

Clint turned into Loki’s hand as the god ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, his traitorous eyes slipping shut.  If he could, he would have purred; instead, a low, grumbling sigh escaped his throat as Loki’s nails scratched gently against his scalp.

"It’s always worse when I just wake up," he murmured.  "It gets better, though."

Loki sighed heavily, fingers gripping his hair for just a beat.

A long, silent moment spun out between the two, and finally, Loki asked softly, “Have you an appetite?”

"I could eat," Clint answered. 

He peered up at the god, knowing that that wasn’t the question that he had wanted to ask.  There was something brewing behind those poison green eyes; some bit of knowledge that Loki needed to know, but was afraid to ask.  He’d caged it, for now, behind those even, white teeth, and Clint knew better than to try and drag it out of him.

It would come when Loki was ready.

The god gave one final slow stroke of his fingers, following the curve of the archer’s skull to brush against the nape of his neck.  Then he stepped away to switch on the small light over the stove. 

Clint watched Loki move; the diffused light throwing his face into shadows whenever he turned away.  It didn’t do much to hide the troubled set of his features, and Clint didn’t know if it was the waiting, his worsening condition, or the god’s unsettled rest that was to blame.

 _'Probably all three,'_ he thought.

Loki rummaged through the silverware drawer, huffing in frustration before invoking a large knife to slice the tomatoes he’d already lined up on the cutting board.  He kept his gaze downcast, shoulders tense as he worked, and Clint recognized that his god was turning something over in his mind; worrying it as a dog does to a bone.

He busied himself pouring two mugs of coffee.  His a no-nonsense black; Loki’s a rich, creamy shade and with enough sugar to give an elephant diabetes.  Clint placed Loki’s next to him and retreated to the sideboard once more; waiting for what he knew was to come.

Several more flashes of light had spilled through the window, and the pile of omelette ingredients had grown exponentially before Loki lay down the knife and gripped the edge of the counter.  After a moment, he raised his head, looking out the window above the sink, the half-light of dawn gilding his face.

"Does it…hurt," he asked in a low, hesitant tone.

Clint swallowed a mouthful of coffee and regarded Loki thoughtfully before giving his answer.

"No," he said, the word falling like a stone from his mouth.  "No, Loki, it doesn’t hurt.  It doesn’t work like that.  It just… gets darker."

Loki said nothing, but Clint could tell he’d heard his words.  He wasn’t sure if what he’d said helped set the god’s mind at ease or made things worse.  With Loki, it was hard to tell.

The silence drew out, and finally Loki went back to making breakfast.  Clint watched from his seat across the room, following his movements with a sharp eye.  Something was eating at him, something he wasn’t saying, and Clint knew if he pressed the issue now, he would find resistance that would put a brick wall to shame.

It was the first time either of them had brought up the subject of Clint’s illness since they had first learned about it.  At first, Clint was grateful; he didn’t _want_ to talk about it.  He didn’t want to talk about much of anything after that whole episode had blown over.  The less said, the better.

Now, Clint was beginning to understand that maybe the silence should have been breached long before now.  It was such a simple question, and yet the longer Clint thought about it, the more he realized Loki had absolutely no idea what he was going through.  To ask him, after all this time, if it _hurt_ , as if he thought Clint had been plagued all along with pain; it only showed how dangerous keeping things from the other could be.

Clint wasn’t protecting him from anything.  The silence they’d kept between themselves needed to be broken.

He began by clearing his throat, and when Loki turned to him curiously, he gave his best attempt at appearing unaffected as he asked, “So, uh… did… did you think it was… that bad?” 

Loki set a pan to warm on the burner, adding a dollop of butter and a pinch of salt as he answered.  “I was uncertain precisely what effect your…condition had upon you.  It seems I am woefully unfamiliar with Midgardian ailments.”

His gaze skipped from the pan to the archer, and then back again before softly adding, “I had hoped, at the very least, that it would be painless.”

Clint sipped his coffee, willing the lump in his throat to recede before he dared speak.  Loki was already wound tight, and he’d be sure to pick up on the slightest waver or hitch in Clint’s voice.  He’d be damned if he’d be the one to add to the god’s distress.

"No worries there," the archer finally said.  "Sometimes they ache a little.  Especially after too much time under fluorescent lights.  And every so often I get this itching sensation just behind my eyes, which drives me batshit, because how are you supposed to scratch _there_?”  Clint huffed out a sigh before finishing.  “But pain?  No so much.”

Loki gave a brief nod, letting out a breath he’d been unaware he was holding.  He fought against the riding tide of panic that had shook him awake, catapulting him out of that horrid nightmare and into the rain-streaked darkness.  Instead, he turned his attention to the butter now popping and hissing in the heated pan. 

When he moved to open the refrigerator door and retrieve the eggs, he found that his hands were shaking.  That feeling of helplessness that had plagued his dreaming mind was slowly resurfacing; reminding him that there was nothing… _nothing_ …he could do to remedy this situation.

Except wait…and hope.

Clint watched Loki move across the kitchen, jaw clenching, caging his words behind his teeth.  His eyes might be failing, but they were still sharp; sharp enough to notice the stiff gait and tense line of his shoulders.  The egg carton squeaked in protest of fingers gripping too tightly, shaking just enough for Clint’s ears to catch. 

He watched, and the longer the silence between them drew out, the more Clint wanted to break it, to ask Loki what had him so panicked.  The waiting was part of it, but by no means all.  He’d seen Loki like this before, early in the morning, after waking before dawn to stare out the window in hopes of erasing the visions that danced across the backs of his eyelids. 

He would know all about that.  He suffered the same things, sometimes.  Always just a little on edge, a bit too frantic, the hours after waking, like an adrenaline high.  It took some time to come back down.

Except Loki seemed to be getting worse, and he wasn’t telling Clint why.

A month ago, he wouldn’t have even thought about asking.  Hell, a week ago, he probably wouldn’t even be in the same room with him to even notice the signs.  Now, Clint remembered his resolve not to be a coward any longer.  These things between them couldn’t stay ignored.

"You said you couldn’t sleep either," he said.  He saw Loki’s shoulders stiffen, a tiny pause in his movements.  He hurried on, suddenly regretting opening this line of dialog.  "Look, you don’t have to tell me.  If you wanna keep it to yourself, that is.  But, if you did… wanna tell me, I mean.  You could."  Clint glanced away, eyes flickering around the room, lighting on anything that wasn’t Loki at that very moment.

The god took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as he mulled over Clint’s offer.  There was a part of him that very much wished he could share the turmoil inside his head; and perhaps, in the sharing, he would lessen the panic that capered and grinned at the edge of his consciousness.

But should he burden Clint with his nightmares? 

Could he stand by and watch that terror he’d felt manifest in his Hawk’s gaze as he explained exactly what had shaken him awake?  The dream surged forward then, rising behind his eyes to remind him of how helpless he’d been. 

He had stood, mute and frozen in the middle of a featureless room as Clint had cried out in agony.  He had been blind; utterly and completely, and Loki could not go to him; could not even speak to guide him to his side.  He’d had to watch as the archer searched in vain; thinking himself alone, abandoned to his fate.

Could he speak aloud the very thing that Clint himself so feared?

No.  He could _not_.

Loki shook off the dream and moved to Clint’s side, reminding himself that he was awake, and that the fiction in his head did not rule him.  That even if he was unable to share the horrors that filled the dark hours, then at the very least he was free to move and speak and comfort the man before him.

"I truly appreciate that you are willing to share the weight of my nightmares," Loki murmured, covering Clint’s hand with his own.  "But must I remind you that my subconscious is not the most welcoming of places?  It takes that which I fear most and twists it; finds ways to make it so much worse than the reality.  I would not inject such poison into your mind, my Hawk.  I would not ask that of you."

"You didn’t _ask_ ,” Clint said gruffly, twining his fingers through Loki’s own.  “I offered.”

"I know," Loki replied softly.  "But there are some things better left unknown."

Clint wanted to argue.  He wanted to tell Loki that was the exact opposite of everything he’d told him.  How many times had Loki dragged the ugly truth out of him, when he’d been so determined to keep silent?  How many times had they torn each other to shreds over things he’d never wanted Loki to know?

He stayed silent, however, frowning down at their entwined fingers and swallowing back all of his arguments.  He didn’t want to start a fight.  Not now, when they were both wound so tight.  Clint had learned what battles he could win, and this wasn’t one of them.

That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, or even pretend to be.  It damn well _hurt_ to have his efforts shrugged off, dismissed with a ‘ _thank you, no.’_  Clint knew it wasn’t Loki’s fault, not entirely.  His refusal to share his burden wasn’t out of malice, it was simply his way of protecting him.

And if he was completely honest, Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Loki’s nightmares consisted of.  He still avoided the topic of his time in Hel — not that it came up very often, but if there was one thing Clint knew he couldn’t handle, it was to know the details of Loki’s torture.

If his nightmares had anything to do with that, then perhaps it _was_ better not to know.

"Like I said, you don’t have to tell me," he finally muttered.  He still kept his eyes downcast; it was suddenly too much work to pretend he could fix anything.

Loki frowned lightly.  He knew he’d delivered the exact opposite answer that Clint wanted, and it pained him to see his archer so defeated.

"I know you wish to remedy this," Loki said in a soft tone.  "You have set yourself as my protector, and I _am_ grateful for that.  But my dreams are not something that can be fought; either with words or fists.  And we have enough strife at the moment that I am loathe to add to it.”

Clint nodded, eyes still locked onto their hands.  Loki’s slim, pale digits woven through his own thicker, scarred fingers.  The contrast struck him then, a fleeting thought of _'How did we get_ ** _here_** _?’_ scudding across his mind like a storm cloud.

"Will you look at me, please?" Loki asked.

Clint raised his gaze to meet the god’s and was momentarily taken aback by the intensity of emotion brightening that poison green stare.  Loki’s free hand came up to cup Clint’s cheek, and a soft smile curled that mouth Clint knew so well.

"I have pledged myself to you; body and mind both.  And you have weathered all the storms my psyche has unleashed.  I have told you more of myself than any other living creature in all the nine realms knows.  But this?  This is nothing more than a bit of terror; a scrap of angst that will burn away with the morning sun.  By saying that I will not share this with you…that does not mean that I will _never_ accept your offer to unburden myself.” 

Loki paused then, his eyes searching Clint’s own before he continued.

"I do not wish to cause you any further turmoil, my Hawk.  Not if it can be helped.  Do you understand?"

Clint nodded again, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.  He couldn’t quite say whether it was anger, love or fear that caused his breath to come ragged, and his heart to thrum in his chest. 

Maybe a little of all three.

But what he _did_ know, was that even though he _understood_ Loki’s reasoning, it still didn’t sit quite right with him.

Loki studied Clint’s expression.  “Have you nothing to say?” he asked carefully.

Clint cleared his throat, and let that familiar smirk pluck at the corner of his mouth before answering.

"Yeah," he ground out.  "The butter is burning…"

Loki swore in that guttural language that Clint had yet to identify, and Clint chuckled lightly.

The tension was broken for the moment, but Clint felt there was still more to be said.  He would wait, however, until Loki was willing to talk.  Prying into Loki’s thoughts had backfired on him too many times.

He watched him as he attempted to salvage the beginnings of breakfast, studied his movements as if Loki were one of his targets and he was looking for a tell.  When finally Loki gave up and simply waved the mess away with a flick of his wrist, Clint could tell he was more shaken by their talk than he was upset about the failed omelet.

With a sigh, Clint stood from his seat and crossed the floor, his bare feet scarcely making a sound against the cold linoleum.  When his hands lighted on the god’s hips, he felt the stiffening of his spine, heard the catch in his breath.  Then he was leaning back into his solid weight at his back as Clint’s arms wrapped around him.  He pressed his forehead into Loki’s shoulder.

"You tried, Princess," he said, muffled against the warm skin of Loki’s back.

A mirthless huff fell from Loki’s lips, though he made no move to pull away.  “I am not usually so careless,” he muttered.  “It seems you have a talent for distracting me.”

"Sure, blame me."  A few beats of silence stretched out between them, and Clint blinked lazily, mulling over his next words before deciding to speak them aloud.  "Dunno what I’d do without you," he finally admitted, and his arms tightened around Loki’s middle.

"Cook your own breakfast, I’d imagine," Loki said, his voice light and teasing.

"I mean it.  I really don’t know.  Sometimes I try."  A brief pause followed, and Clint could both hear and feel the breath Loki took.  "It’s just… nothing.  Just me.  Here, alone, no one else around.  I’d be… going through _this_ alone.” 

He swallowed thickly, throat suddenly too constricted.  “Glad I’m not,” he finished.

The feeling that swelled in Loki’s chest at Clint’s words was equal parts pleasure and pain, and he was suddenly desperate to look into those steel blue eyes.  He turned in the archer’s embrace; one hand going to Clint’s shoulder as the other threaded through short brown hair.

"We have both spent far too long locked in solitude," Loki murmured.  "Relying on only ourselves.  But now we have one another, and I cannot _quite_ remember how I managed before you entered my life.”

"I can," Clint answered quietly, leaning into Loki’s stroking fingers with eyes drifting half-shut in pleasure.  "And it sucked."

"Yes," Loki agreed.  "And that is why I am grateful for every day I spend at your side.  Every morning that I open my eyes and find you still there?  Not a dream; not a figment of my torturous mind?  I give thanks to the Norns."

Clint gave a slight smile before gently teasing, “Now you’re just getting sappy.”

"And that is my prerogative," Loki sniffed.  "I am equally glad not to have to weather these storms alone, and I will couch that feeling in whatever terms I think best."

"Yeah, yeah," the archer replied, his smile growing into a full fledged grin.  "After all…you do what you want."

"Indeed I do," Loki agreed.  "And what I want _now_ is to procure something to eat.  Perhaps toast would be a bit less complicated?”

"You sure about that?" Clint asked, giving him an askance eye.  "You do remember that the butter goes on _after_ you put it in the toaster?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at the reminder of his first attempt using the toaster.  “If I loved you any less, I would _end_ you,” he threatened.  “We agreed never to speak of that again.”

"Actually, no, _you_ said that.  I was too busy laughing at your face.”

It was such a relief to Clint to be able to tease Loki like this; too often, the morning after dark dreams had wrung them out, the silence between them was nearly unbearable.  The sunken feeling in Clint’s gut would pull the rest of him down, leaving him quiet and brooding.  Loki would become skittish, tiptoeing around him in a way that reminded Clint too much of his early years, doing his best to become invisible.

Even if it was at his own expense, Loki seemed to realize that Clint needed this, a tiny slice of normal when everything else seemed to be stretched and skewed. 

The past few weeks had seen precious little in the way of normal, even for the two of them, when _normal_ meant the explosions weren’t _too_ large and Clint wasn’t bandaged somewhere. 

"Do you really find my face _so_ amusing?” Loki finally asked. 

The corner of Clint’s mouth lifted in an amused smirk.  “Sometimes,” was all he said in answer. 

Loki blinked at him as if trying to figure out a puzzle he couldn’t quite find the solution to.

"I must admit, you confuse me at times, my Hawk," he said.  Clint simply shrugged and reached for the bread.  "The things you find amusing, for instance."

"I got a weird sense of humor," Clint said as he went about making toast.  "Trying to make sense of it is your first mistake."

"Noted," Loki remarked and took Clint’s vacated seat at the sideboard. 

He sipped at his coffee, watching closely as the archer moved purposefully around the small kitchen.  All tension had left the slope of his shoulders, and that tiny smirk was firmly embedded in the corner of Clint’s mouth. 

Loki was glad to see it there.  He greatly preferred mirth, even at his own expense, over the hesitant moroseness his Hawk had been displaying earlier.

Clint absently drummed his fingers on the counter as he waited for the toast to pop.  He glanced over to find Loki studying him intently over the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"What’s _that_ look for?” Clint asked.

"I was simply thinking back to the first time I was in this room," Loki murmured.  "And how easily you made me blush on that day."

"Yeah, well…I didn’t do it on _purpose_ ,” Clint chuckled, remembering how taken aback Loki had been upon seeing him shirtless.  “But once I saw your reaction?  Couldn’t resist flaunting a little.”

"Rude," Loki said fondly before draining the last of his coffee and setting the mug aside.

"Had to do it," Clint smirked and pulled the toast from the machine, slathering it with butter and setting it in front of the god.  "And don’t try to tell me that you didn’t _enjoy_ it.  I know better.”

Loki took a dainty bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he mulled over his words. 

"Of course I did," he finally replied, a sly grin plucking at the corner of his mouth.  "There is very little I do _not_ enjoy about you, my Hawk.”

Clint tilted his head and gave Loki a strange little smile, more with his eyes than his mouth. 

"Still not used to that," he said, leaning back against the counter.  "I keep wondering why you’re not sick of me yet."

Loki’s face twisted in distaste.  “Do you?” he returned, his voice dripping with derision.

"Well, maybe not in those words," Clint allowed, shrugging one shoulder and glancing away.  "Just not used to it.  Everyone I’ve ever met has wanted to punch me in the face at least once.  Some even _have_.”  He rubbed the right side of his face in memory of the left hook Natasha had delivered that day on the Helicarrier.

"I can assure you, the thought of striking you has never entered my mind," Loki said, and his voice slammed those thoughts to an abrupt halt.

"Yeah?  You’d be the first," Clint said, smirk back in place as he hiked himself up to sit on the counter at his back.  He leaned back on his palms and gave Loki a contemplative look.  "Y’know, for as angry as I was with you over… well, _everything_ , really… I never actually wanted to _hit_ you.  I came pretty close a time or two, but…,” and here he paused, glancing down to the floor before continuing in a more subdued tone.  “I try not to hit anyone out of anger.”

Loki seemed to notice the change in his demeanor, hesitating for a beat before replying.

"That is… admirable," he said, picking a corner of toast from the slice he’d been nibbling.  "Something I wish I could say.  Alas, my temper was not always able to be reigned in."

"You?  A temper?  I don’t believe it," Clint scoffed, sending a smirk at Loki when he glared up at him.

Loki sniffed disdainfully and tossed the remains of his toast back to the plate before rising and making his way across the room.  Clint continued to smirk, even as Loki bracketed him with his arms on either side of his hips, leaning forward until he could glare into his eyes.

"I had the servants terrified to even clear their throats on a good day," he murmured, pressing his chest against Clint’s.

"Let me guess," Clint growled back.  "You got better?"

"Eventually," Loki replied.  "I no longer fear that my temper will get the best of me.  I just wish that held true for _all_ of my emotions.”

"Not _all_ emotions are bad,” Clint said, suddenly very aware of the feel of Loki’s warm breath ghosting against his throat.  A surge of heat rose in his belly, and the archer grinned.  “Hell.  Some of them are pretty fun.”

Loki held Clint’s gaze, his eyes searching the other man’s before he leaned in further, nipping Clint’s ear.

"Oh yes," he breathed, thrilling to the sudden shudder that ran through Clint’s solid frame.  "There is at least one that I will _never_ try to cage.”

"Which one might that be?"

"I think you know," Loki whispered and licked a wet stripe from the base of Clint’s throat to his ear.

"Pretty sure I do," the archer said.  "But humor me."

"Lust," Loki sighed, pushing forward to stand between Clint’s spread knees.  "I kept that particular emotion tucked away for far too long.  I will not make that mistake again."

"I figured that was what you were talking about," Clint chuckled and then turned his head to the side, offering the god his throat. 

Loki set his teeth against the hollow beneath Clint’s ear and bit down, pulling a ragged gasp from his Hawk.  He gave a fleeting grin before sucking a vibrant bruise into Clint’s flesh.  Pulling back, Loki admired his handiwork; raising one hand to lightly trace the line of Clint’s throat.

"This is what I wished to do to you that long ago day," he murmured. 

"Just this?" Clint asked, a teasing note to his voice.

"Have you ever known me to be satisfied with such a small show of need?" Loki asked in return, his hands coming to rest on Clint’s thighs. 

"Nope.  You’re a greedy sort," Clint grinned. 

"Very," Loki agreed.

"Well, I’m right here," Clint growled.  "How about you show me what you _really_ wanted to do that day?”

He could feel his pulse pick up at the look in Loki’s eyes; hungry didn’t seem like the right word to describe it.  Ravenous was more fitting, and he found he had to stifle the urge to squirm as Loki’s eyes raked over his exposed torso.  The god pulled his lip between his teeth and took a few moments to simply _look_ , and if Clint had to guess, _this_ is what he would have done had he not felt the need to hide his attraction.

To think he could have such a powerful effect on someone like Loki was quite the ego-boost.  It didn’t matter to him then if there had been others before him, and maybe they’d held his interest for a time, but Loki was here with _him_ now, and from what he’d been insisting, that was where he wanted to remain for the rest of eternity.

The thought seemed a little less daunting now that he’d actually decided he wanted the same thing.

Loki’s hands sliding up his thighs snapped his attention back on point, and he had to stop himself from wriggling under the light, teasing touch.  Long fingers slid beneath his boxers, brushing dangerously close to his groin.  He couldn’t help it, then, and Clint shifted his hips into Loki’s touch.

"There were _so_ many things I wished to do to you, Clint,” Loki intoned, letting his eyes trail over every inch of exposed skin before lifting to his own half-lidded gaze.  “I am surprised I managed to keep to your conversation at all, with all of that utterly _obscene_ imagery running through my mind.”

"Obscene, huh?" Clint asked, eyebrows lifting in interest.  "Sounds promising."

"Oh yes," Loki breathed, teeth glinting in a predatory grin.  His fingers slid even higher, stroking at the sensitive crease where thigh met groin.  "Small wonder the flush never left my face; once begun, there was no stopping those thoughts.  If only you had known…"

Clint pushed his hips into Loki’s touch and couldn’t help the satisfied smirk when the rippling of his abs caused Loki’s breath to hitch, his eyes to darken and his fingers tighten their hold.

"So, how about that demonstration?" Clint said.

"Gladly," the god purred and leaned in once more to nip along the line of Clint’s throat.  "Shall I begin with the initial thought that brought that tell-tale flush rising in my cheeks?"

"Good a place to start as any," Clint groaned, gooseflesh breaking out under the wet heat of Loki’s mouth.

"I stood frozen in the doorway; paralyzed as my mind whispered to me, ‘What would his skin feel like under your touch?  Warm or cool?  Soft or rough?  And how would he _taste_ , heavy and wanting against your tongue?’”

"No wonder you were blushing, Princess," Clint chuckled.  He raised one hand from the counter top to twine through Loki’s ebony tresses, tugging gently.  "And what was the verdict?"

"You _burned_ ,” Loki murmured, eyes drifting half shut at the memory.  “The first time I laid hands on you, the heat of your body shocked me.”

"That so?" Clint questioned.  "To be fair, you had me pretty worked up."

"As was I," Loki returned, his fingertips moving higher to trace against the hard line of Clint’s cock.  "And yet…this went beyond what I had expected.  Your heat, and scent, and then finally… _finally_ , the taste of you?  It all conspired to drive me mad.”

Clint thought back to that first time, and how frenzied Loki had been.  The shaking, pleading mess sprawled out across his sheets, begging for more; sobbing out his need in that smokey voice. 

He felt himself twitch in response to the mental image.

"Go on," he ground out.  "I want all of it.  Let me hear every last bit."

"And you call _me_ greedy,” Loki returned, glaring into Clint’s eyes.  “You wish to hear all of it, then?  Of how very thoroughly I wished to banish every stitch of clothing from your body and have you beneath my hands, my mouth?  To hear your breath ragged and panting in my ear as I worshipped you, until you begged me to stop?”

As he spoke, Loki’s hands crept further towards their prize, and Clint’s breath shuddered to a stop when he finally wrapped his fingers around him.  He couldn’t keep his moan behind his teeth, or stop the shiver from seizing him at the feeling. 

"Everything," Clint answered, voice low and thick with heavy arousal.  "You know what it does to me when you talk like that.  C’mon, Princess, tell me now what you couldn’t tell me then."

Loki’s voice purred in his ear, a low, satisfied hum, as if Clint had just given him a prize.

"It was nearly unbearable," he began, pressing closer until their chests brushed, and once again, he was surprised to feel such _heat_ coming off of him.  “I _ached_ to touch you.  To have you so near, unable to even leave my gaze upon you… I very nearly broke.”

Clint gasped as Loki’s hands began to move over him, stroking his hardened flesh in cadence with his words.  His head fell back, eyes closed, Loki’s words calling up his memories of that day so long ago.  To think Loki had kept those urges caged so completely, for so long, it did something to Clint’s mind. 

He had a _god_ wrapped around his finger, one who wanted nothing so much as to have _him_ , in any way he could.  Suddenly, Clint knew exactly what it felt like to be the target.  To have such intense focus resting purely on him.

"You have me now, Loki," Clint panted, pulling him close with his grip in long black hair.  "Touch me.  And don’t you _dare_ hold back.”

"As you wish," Loki breathed, and his right hand continued the steady rhythm even as his left began to wander.  He stroked over the trembling expanse of Clint’s belly and then up to the archer’s chest.  Loki’s palm rested briefly over the thunder of Clint’s heart, thrilling to the quickened beat before moving on. 

He traced the line of Clint’s shoulder and then drew his nails down his arm; leaving reddened scratches over bicep and corded forearm alike.  Finally, Loki threaded his fingers through Clint’s own and lifted the archer’s hand to press a quick kiss to the back.

"All that, huh?" Clint asked, his voice gone over to sandpaper and gravel. 

"My dear Hawk," Loki murmured.  "This is simply the _beginning_.”

With that, the god leaned in and swept his tongue around one peaked nipple before biting down, pulling a ragged groan from Clint even as his hips jerked up unconsciously.

"Wondered when you’d get around to using that mouth on me," Clint panted.

"Patience," Loki soothed as he twisted his hand up and over the sensitive head of the archer’s cock.  "I plan on taking you to pieces before I swallow you down."

Clint whimpered softly at the promise of what was to come, and shifted on the counter.  His skin suddenly felt too tight by half; every nerve ending firing at high speed as he imagined that dark head bent between his spread thighs and the burning heat of Loki’s mouth wrapped around him.

"F-fuck," he stuttered.  "Dunno how long I can wait for that."

Loki flicked the tip of his tongue once more over Clint’s nipple before smirking up at him.  “Well,” shall we see how long it takes before you beg for this mouth?”

Clint swallowed roughly and nodded.

Loki’s hands on him never failed to affect Clint, even when it was something as innocent as a brush of fingers across his nape, or the slow drag of nails through his hair as he fell asleep beside him.  He often found himself daydreaming about those hands, the phantom sensation of them sliding over his skin distracting him quite effectively during the more quiet moments of his missions.

If he was being truthful, Clint would be more than content with just Loki’s hands, although the promise of his mouth caused a shudder to wrack his body even as Loki’s fingers continued their work.  He saw no need to rush ahead, though; they had time, and no better way to pass it than by trying to break each other in the best ways possible.

Loki seemed to notice his Hawk’s quiet resolve, his eyes flashing as he held their gazes locked.  The next pass of his hand against Clint’s cock was tighter, rougher, with an almost brutal twist around the sensitive head, and the contrast between slow, languid pleasure and the sharp bite of almost-pain caused Clint to cry out, bucking his hips nearly hard enough to leave the countertop completely.

"You seem distracted," Loki murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the heated skin above Clint’s thundering pulse.  His fingers tightened even further around Clint’s cock, and a strangled moan fell against his ear before it could be swallowed back.  "Perhaps something a little more… entertaining is in order."

"Entertaining, what?" Clint babbled, opening his eyes to the ceiling when Loki’s hand retreated.  "Hey, no… get back here!" he protested when Loki stepped away.

The smirk on Loki’s face might have given anyone else pause, but to Clint, it just meant things were going to get _really_ interesting.

"I’m just wondering if perhaps you need more than just my hands to keep your interest," he said cryptically.

"I like your hands!" Clint hastened to assure him.  "I _really_ fucking like your hands.  On me.” 

Loki’s eyes trailed over his body, spread out on the countertop, clearly wanting and needy, and his smirk grew into a lupine grin.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Loki purred, moving once more between Clint’s parted knees.  "I simply thought that there might be something _more_ you craved.”

With that, Loki caught Clint’s gaze, his eyes washing red even as his skin paled into glacial blue.

The archer voiced a low groan, his cock giving an unconscious twitch as the god’s nails bit into his hips, and that feral grin widened to show teeth far sharper than they had been just a moment before.

"You’re not wrong," Clint murmured, surging forward to capture Loki’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

Loki returned the kiss, ending it with a parting nip that drew a bead of blood to the surface of Clint’s lip.  He pulled back slightly, smirking at the claret stain that colored the archer’s mouth before leaning back in to lick it clean.  Lifting one hand from Clint’s hip, Loki traced the pale, puckered scar on his shoulder; a reminder of another time he’d let his Jotun nature take the lead.

"And do I have your attention _now_?” Loki asked, a hint of a growl in his smoke and velvet voice.

"You never lost it to begin with," Clint panted, his hips twitching up, seeking the friction he so missed.  "Now, please…put those hands back on me?"

Loki chuckled; a rumbling, baritone that Clint could feel reverberate through his chest.  And when the god’s hand slid from his hip to once again circle around his cock, the archer came dangerously close to whimpering.

As always, Clint was surprised by the heat of Loki’s touch.  One would think that a Frost Giant would be cold, but the exact opposite seemed to hold true; Loki _burned_ , his blood pumping fast and hot just beneath his skin.  Clint could nearly feel his pulse in the palm wrapped around him.  His own raced in time with it.

Whenever Loki deigned to show his true form, Clint couldn’t keep his mask in place for long.  There was something contagious about the Jotun’s feral nature, and he found himself nearly as frenzied as his god.  His hips rose unchecked, seeking the friction of that burning palm. 

Loki’s voice rumbled in a low purr, and Clint opened eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d closed to find the startling red of his gaze locked onto his face.  Those eyes fell to the rise and fall of his pulse beating in his throat, and sharp white fangs peeked from behind curling blue lips.  Clint knew what he wanted, and his heart sped up all the more at the thought of those pristine white teeth stained with his blood.

Eyes still locked onto Loki’s, Clint tilted his head back and to the side, offering his throat.

Loki’s purr grew into a bestial growl, and he moved forward to take Clint’s flesh between his teeth before he could think to stop himself.  He pulled short at the very last moment, his fangs nearly scraping the soft, vulnerable skin of his Hawk’s throat.

Clint sensed his hesitation and took the god’s hair in a tight grip, pulling Loki’s mouth against him.

"Don’t stop now, Princess," he groaned.  The sharp press of Loki’s fangs against his skin caused a shudder to ripple through his entire body, from his toes to his scalp.  He gripped Loki’s hair tighter and growled into his ear, "C’mon.  _Entertain_ me, already.”

Loki’s growl swelled into a snarl as Clint goaded him into action.  He licked over the frantic beat of the archer’s pulse before driving his fangs deep just behind the artery.  The taste of copper filled his mouth; bathing his tongue in Clint’s very essence, and Loki gave a pleased hum that was drowned out by the smaller man’s howl of pain laced pleasure.

.Pulling his fangs free, the god lapped at the claret trickle that ran freely from the wound.  He could _taste_ the lust in his Hawk’s blood; _smell_ the pheromones his body was pumping out; _feel_ the tremors wracking the body in his grasp. 

His senses were so heightened in this form, Loki needed no verbal cues, and so he chuckled darkly when Clint gasped out, “Again!”

"More?" he murmured against the abused skin of Clint’s throat, giving another slow pass of his roughened tongue over the ragged mark.  "Do you crave ruination so very much?"

"Fuck _yes_ ,” Clint panted, pushing his hips up, fucking the tunnel of Loki’s fist.  “You said you were gonna take me to pieces…so get to it.”

"So demanding," Loki purred, giving a harsh squeeze to the thick flesh in his hand.  "Very well, then.  I shall deliver on my promise.  But remember, my Hawk; when you are washed in red and pleading for me to stop…remember that you asked for this very thing."

"N-no worries," Clint returned, arching his back and tugging Loki’s mouth against his throat once more.  "Not gonna ask you to stop.  Ever."

Clint felt the grin curving against his skin before the god whispered, “We shall see.” 

And then all thoughts of a witty comeback were gone; knocked away by the feel of sharp teeth pushing deep, and a roughly stroking hand between his thighs.

Clint’s head fell back against the cabinet, and he swallowed back a scream of joy.  This was what he needed to banish the dark dreams from the night before.  Loki taking control; Loki leaving no room within him for anything other than pleasure. 

And the god was happy to oblige.

Loki’s growling purr was constant, now; Clint could feel it rumbling against his throat.  He plunged the fingers of both hands into his dark hair and held him tight as his legs came up to wrap around the god’s hips.  The cupboard behind his head gave him enough leverage to push into Loki’s solid weight, striving to get even closer, to get more contact. 

Sharp fangs pulled away from his flesh with a harsh gasp as Clint pressed his chest to his own, brushing against the sensitive ridges that decorated his skin.  He could feel each one throbbing in time with his pulse.

Clint seemed to notice the effect his movements caused, and so he did it again.  And again.  The third time, he added a sinuous thrust of his hips, and then Loki’s hands gripped him behind his thighs and lifted him clear of the countertop, pulling him flush against his body.

Blinking down into glaring red, Clint couldn’t help the flush of arousal that colored his face and upper chest at the sudden show of Loki’s brute strength.  He’d never been manhandled like _this_ before.

"Gonna toss me around a little?" he smirked before darting forward and licking the red smear of his blood from the corner of Loki’s mouth.

"That depends," Loki rumbled, and Clint shuddered at the feeling of that voice against his skin, chest to chest as they were.  "Would you find that… _entertaining_?”

"We should find out," Clint returned.  "Been a pretty good show so far."

Loki’s purr raised in pitch, just the slightest bit, as if in agreement, and backed away in the direction of the hallway and their bedroom.  “I agree.  Come then, my Hawk, let us test your… durability.”

Clint fought the urge to squirm in anticipation, instead locking his ankles tight around the god’s upper thighs.  Loki hummed in delight, and then turned to crush the archer against the nearest wall.  He leaned his weight into Clint’s solid frame, pinning him in place and chuckling lightly at the surprised gasp that fell from his Hawk’s lips.

"Too much?" Loki questioned as he ground his hips forward, thrilling to the insistent press of hard flesh against his own.

"No," Clint shot back.  "Just…the wall’s a little cold.  Didn’t expect that."

"Have no fear," Loki murmured, licking over the increasing thunder of Clint’s pulse.  "I shall not stop until every inch of you is _burning_.”

"Wouldn’t expect anything less," Clint panted before tugging Loki’s mouth up to meet his. He slicked his tongue over the god’s, and then drew a deep breath, taking in Loki’s exhalation as his own. 

They spent a long moment there, breathing one another in, hips moving unchecked, until finally Clint nipped at Loki’s lip and whispered, “Time’s wasting, Princess.  Take me to bed.”

"Bed?  When we have a perfectly serviceable wall right here?"  Loki pulled a mock pout.  "Or perhaps you do not _want_ me to repay you for that lovely display of need in the alley behind that coffee-shop?”

Clint’s cock gave an interested twitch as he recalled the rough, frantic coupling that had occurred the morning they’d run out of coffee.  It had been quick, dirty, and thoroughly amazing…and he’d have to be a fool to not want to be on the receiving end.

"Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” Clint growled.  “Of course I’m not gonna say no.  But…there are walls in the bedroom, too, y’know?  And I’d kinda like to have you on top for a while…”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, the red seeming to flare brighter at Clint’s suggestion.

"The bedroom it is," he agreed, and pulled Clint tight against him, stalking with renewed purpose toward the end of the hallway.

Clint gave an amused huff at Loki’s eagerness.  It never failed to give him a secret thrill whenever he inspired Loki into _taking_.  He was always so careful to keep a bit of himself in check.  Somehow, he was able to temper his constant hunger; something for which Clint was immensely grateful when not behind closed doors.

Now, though… well, he’d managed to coax the beast out of hiding.  He’d better be prepared for everything that came with that.

The pain of Loki’s bites throbbed with a dull, low-grade ache, just painful enough that he couldn’t ignore it.  Something else that gave him a secret thrill was Loki’s need to mark him.  Whether to remind Clint who he belonged to or to stake his claim for others to see, it didn’t much matter; it was more than enough for him that _he_ knew they were there.  He found himself looking forward to seeing the scars left behind, wondering what they would look like when they healed.

His favorite by far was the wound on the back of his neck; though he couldn’t easily see it, he often found himself brushing his fingertips over it, tracing the raised edges of the ragged bite mark.  He was pretty sure he had it memorized by now.

When Loki got like this, possessive and demanding, Clint wanted nothing more than to submit to his god, in whatever way was asked of him.  It seemed to get easier for Loki each time he let his true form emerge.  Now that he knew Clint wasn’t repulsed by him _or_ his feral hunger, he was more than willing to let it take over now and again.

Like now, after carrying Clint down the hallway as if he weighed nothing and _slamming_ his back against the nearest bare expanse of wall.  Clint could see the raw want in his eyes, hear it in the growling breaths that fanned across his throat and feel it in the heat that seemed to radiate from him, hotter than he’d ever felt him before.

"So," Clint panted, "I guess it’s too late to change my mind."

Loki’s snarl cleaved the air between them.  “Far too late,” was the growling reply.  His hips ground into Clint’s, pressing him into the wall until he gasped for a breath.

"Good," Clint groaned.  "Want this too much to stop."

"I _shall never_ stop,” Loki growled.  “My hunger for you grows by the day; each brush of your fingertips fanning the flames higher.  I can feel your eyes upon me, even in our quiet moments, and it is all I can do to keep myself from dragging you to the floor and claiming what is mine.”

Clint felt that familiar tightness grow in his throat, momentarily overshadowing the need coiled in his belly.  It never failed to affect him when Loki spoke like this; revealing the depth of his emotions so easily.  He wished he could do the same, but words had never been his strong point, so he preferred to let his actions speak for him.

Sliding his hands into that ebony fall of hair, Clint tugged Loki’s head to the side and mouthed along the line of his jaw before stopping to nip at the god’s ear.  He loosed a shuddering breath, grinning at the tremor that ran through Loki’s body at the warm gust of air, and whispered, “I’m all yours, Loki.  No need to hold back.  Just… _take_ me.”

The soft, needy whine that bled from Loki’s throat surprised Clint.  He’d expected a snarl of triumph, perhaps even to be manhandled to the bed at Loki’s back; spread wide and roughly taken.

But this?  This didn’t fit what he knew of Jotun Loki.

The god crushed his mouth to Clint’s, hoping to hide his own measure of surprise at his response.  He still felt the raging hunger that forever blazed in his belly.  The need to _bite_ and _mark_ and _take_ was present, as always. 

But there was something more hidden within him.  Something _new_.

It was at that moment, as he devoured Clint’s mouth, that his mind hit on the truth of the matter.

This was acceptance…and not just from his Hawk.

No, Clint had proven time and again that he not only accepted this form, but hungered for it.  He had begged and pleaded and panted out his lust under these dark-nailed hands a myriad of times.  Had that all been a placating lie, Loki would have seen through the falsehood by now.

This was self-acceptance.  The small, waspish voice in his head finally had been silenced, and he no longer saw himself as a monster.  He was simply Loki.

And he was wanted.

It was then that he broke the kiss, searching the questioning gaze of his archer before choking out one word.

“ _Mine_.”

Something inside of Clint popped, like a bubble of pressure that was finally, blessedly released.  He wanted to laugh, simply out of relief.

"Finally figured that out, Princess?" he chuckled, sliding his hands into Loki’s hair and gripping tight, holding their gazes locked.  He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Loki’s, the heat of his skin burning him like a brand wherever they touched.  Each breath he took was laced with Loki’s scent, and for just a brief moment, Clint felt like he could almost climb inside his skin.  They were as close as they could physically be, but for Clint, it wasn’t nearly close enough.

Loki didn’t answer with words, but the possessive growl he loosed was easy enough to understand.  Clint responded with another writhing thrust against his chest, using the wall at his back as leverage.  The friction tore a moan from them both, and when Clint opened his eyes, he saw pulsing red staring back at him.

"You want me to beg?" he gasped, grinding his head back against the wall. 

"That would be lovely," Loki rumbled, the growling purr never ceasing.  "Not necessary, but lovely all the same."

He stepped closer to the wall, until Clint could no longer move against him, pressed into the wall hard enough to cause his breath to hitch.  The firm pressure between his thighs was maddening, and without the leverage to move, Clint found himself pinned, helpless, and extremely frustrated.

"God damn it, Loki," he whimpered, hands scrabbling at the unforgiving expanse of blue skin across Loki’s back.

The god’s purr took on a questioning, inquisitive tone as he lowered his mouth to Clint’s throat.  He grazed his fangs across the sensitive skin, and his tongue darted out to swipe across the still-seeping wound beneath his ear.

"I did say we would see how long it would take for you to start begging, did I not?" he asked.  "Have I broken you, my Hawk?"

When Loki gave a sharp thrust of his hips, Clint couldn’t help the sharp cry he loosed to the ceiling,  His fingers turned to claws and raked across Loki’s shoulders. 

“ _Yours_ ,” the archer gasped, lost to everything that was not Loki in that moment. 

"That is not what I _asked_ ,” Loki rumbled.  He hid the swell of pride he felt at Clint’s response and instead set his fangs against the smaller man’s shoulder. 

"Have I broken you?" He repeated slowly, pointedly; letting the tips of his teeth begin to dig into Clint’s flesh just the smallest bit.

"Almost," Clint panted, his heart in his throat and the fire between his thighs raging.  "Keep this up and I’d give it another…oh…maybe three minutes before I break."

"Well, then," Loki purred.  "I suppose I should see if I can bring about your ruin any faster."  So saying, Loki slid one slender hand between them, caging the archer’s insistent length in a tight fist. 

Clint stiffened in surprise before voicing a ragged, keening cry.  His hips stuttered forward as far as Loki would allow, and the god leaned in to mouth against Clint’s ear, detailing in that low baritone all that the god would do.

Loki languidly stroked in time to his words; whispering, “You have no idea how desperate I am to taste you, my Hawk.  To milk you dry with this mouth you so love.  I wish to feel your body gone tight and trembling with release; to hear your voice raised in ragged song as you spill down my throat.”

"Oh god," Clint groaned.  " _Please_?”

"That is a poor excuse for begging," Loki teased, giving a twisting pull to the thick flesh in his hand.  "I’m certain you can do better."

Clint shuddered, his head falling back against the wall, eyes clenched tight.  “I _need_ you,” he said in a strained voice.  “I _want_ you.  Please, Loki?  Let me show you how much?  I-I’ll do anything… _anything_ …just, no more teasing.”

"That is an improvement," Loki murmured as he unwrapped Clint’s legs from around his hips and set the archer on his own two feet.  The god pressed a quick kiss to Clint’s throat, and then dropped to his knees, flashing a grin up at the startled archer before purring, "And I believe that a reward is in order."

Clint was frozen in place; he hadn’t actually expected Loki to cave so soon.  He’d begged before, yes, and he knew Loki loved to hear him so needy, but he hadn’t even scratched the surface of how badly he wanted the teasing to end.

Loki gave him no time to find his voice.  He darted forward and licked a hot stripe up the underside of his cock, and Clint had to lock his knees before they buckled.  The rough, almost painful friction of Loki’s tongue was always a shock at first.  That, coupled with the heat of his mouth so near his most sensitive flesh was enough to keep him still, pressing back into the wall almost as if he wanted to get away. 

"There you are," Loki purred, eyelids fluttering at the taste of his Hawk.

The next pass of his tongue lingered just beneath the head of his cock, in that spot that never failed to make his hips twitch.  It was nearly painful, and a strangled wail pushed its way past Clint’s throat when Loki began teasing that spot with the very tip of his tongue.

"Such a lovely song you sing for me," Loki said, pulling back just enough to take in the sight of Clint panting and hard for him.  "I will never grow tired of hearing those whorish moans of yours as I kneel at your feet."

Clint opened his mouth to say something, but his words were obliterated by another spiraling moan when he was suddenly encased in wet, sucking heat.  The back of his head met the wall, fingers gripping Loki’s hair tight enough to hurt had he been mortal.  He was careful - so careful - not to move his hips; Loki’s teeth were a constant hazard when he was in this form, and no matter how much Clint might like a bit of pain and bloodplay, there was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

Loki took him easily, filling his throat with the thick length and letting his throat tighten around him before pulling back to swirl his tongue over the weeping crown.  Clint’s eyes opened to the ceiling, eyes welling up with tears of pleasure and jaw clenched tight against the needy whines he wanted to loose.

Seeming to notice, Loki pulled back, giving a parting lap to the tip before smirking up into his eyes.

"Holding back?" he asked as he slid his hand over the spit-slicked length.  "Hardly seems fair when you ask the very opposite of me."

"Yeah, well…something tells me that you’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t hold back at least a _little_ ,” Clint ground out.  “Don’t want this over before it starts.”

A low, rumbling laugh spilled from Loki’s throat as his hand stroked and squeezed.  “You are correct in that, my Hawk.  But your stamina nearly matches my own,” the god mused.  “Were you to let go, I have no doubt that you would quickly recover.”

Loki’s eyes sparkled in that mischievous manner Clint knew too well before the Jotun growled, “Unless you think I lack the _skill_ to revive your arousal?”

Clint shook his head and then gasped as Loki once again wrapped his lips around thick flesh.  He pressed forward until the archer was fully sheathed in the tight confines of his throat, and without breaking eye contact, began to slowly swallow.

"N-nuh," Clint stammered, fighting the urge to roll his hips as he stared down into that burning red gaze.  "Not questioning your skills, Princess."

Loki gave a pleased hum around Clint’s cock, letting the vibrations roll off his tongue and through the archer’s flesh.

"Oh, fuck _you_ ,” Clint growled, fisting his hands all the tighter in Loki’s hair.  “That’s not even fair and you know it.”

The god pulled off his length with a harsh suck, and flicked his tongue over the head before smirking up at the panting, quaking mess that was Clint Barton.  “What is it that your people say?  All is fair in love and war?”

Clint scowled expansively and tilted his hips, arching away from the wall and chasing the heat of Loki’s mouth.  He slid the crown of his cock against those spit-slicked lips and murmured, “Yeah.  Something like that.”

Loki flashed his familiar, fleeting grin, and then leaned forward, encasing Clint’s arousal once more.  He hummed in delight at the strangled curses falling from the archer’s mouth, recognizing them as the prelude of what was to come.

Clint may have begged for the teasing touch of Loki’s hands to stop, but his true pleading was just about to begin.

Every muscle in his body locked, tense as a bowstring, until even his shudders ceased.  The pleasure was overwhelmingly sharp, like the taste of cold metal.  Clint could practically hear it singing in his ear, high and warbling, growing louder and more frantic as Loki continued his attentions.

He was only dimly aware that he’d begun babbling, nonsense mouth-noise that might have been words but probably weren’t.  His body felt like one giant nerve, and Loki was playing it expertly, less like a bowstring and more like a harp.  If he’d been any more coherent, he Clint might have tried wresting control back from him, their endless game of tug-of-war, but he was too busy _feeling_ to want to put a stop to it.

Besides, when Loki was in _this_ form, Clint was all-too eager to hand control over to him.  There was something almost addicting about his Jotun nature, the way he demanded rather than implore for the things he wanted from his Hawk.  There was no coy dance of eager anticipation; there was only what Loki _wanted_ and what he _took_ , and it was fortunate for Clint that he was able to meet those demands.  If not, he doubted he would be left in one piece by the time Loki was done with him.

It only registered with him then that his babbling had formed into words; pleas, really.  He was begging in a broken litany, whimpering sobs and helpless cries of, “ _More!  Please!_ ”

Dark-nailed fingers dug into the straining muscles of his thighs as a low growl rumbled against his flesh, and Loki gave him what he begged for.

Loki slid his right hand to the back of Clint’s knee and lifted, hooking the archer’s left leg up and the kneeling god’s shoulder.  Clint moaned as he was spread open, and Loki’s long, slender fingers teased over the cleft of his ass. He never broke his rhythm; sucking steadily as he traced light circles around the spot where he was most wanted. 

Clint’s cries grew more throaty and frantic, until he finally sobbed, “Oh fuck, Loki… _please_ …fill me _up_!”

He pulled back slightly, smirking up at Clint as he continued his slow exploration of the archer’s body.  “And is that your limit, then?” he asked coyly before pushing just the very tip of one finger inside.

The wail that Clint loosed was impressive, but not nearly as telling as the sudden return of the tremors that wracked his frame.  His hips twisted down, trying to take Loki deeper, but the god simply tsk’d at his display of need.

"You know what I wish to hear, my Hawk," he rumbled and darted his head forward to lick a heated stripe up the underside of Clint’s straining cock.  A single bead of wetness had gathered at the tip, and Loki purred before swiping that away with his roughened tongue.  "All you need do is ask," he finished in a hoarse tone.

Loki waited for an answer; hoping that it was the one he wanted to hear.  True, he’d set out to break Clint; to push him to his limits and draw out that needy, submissive side Loki so loved.  But in the process, he’d come close to breaking _himself_.  His blood was boiling beneath his skin, cock achingly hard, and he was seconds away from just pulling the archer to the floor and rutting deep and hard until they both screamed out their release.

And while that was a lovely mental image, what Loki really wanted was for Clint to _ask_ him for that treatment; to offer himself up fully and allow his god to worship at his altar.

"Well?" :Loki prodded.  "Have you nothing to say?"

Clint licked his lips, his brow furrowing as he gazed down at the god kneeling before him.  He slipped one hand from it’s nest in Loki’s hair, and ran his thumb along one of the raised lines bracketing the god’s throat.  Loki shivered at the light touch, but his eyes remained locked on Clint’s gaze; waiting.

"Told you to take what you wanted, Loki," Clint murmured.  "Take what’s _yours_.  But if you need to hear me say it, then yeah…this is my limit.  You broke me.”  He paused there, eyes searching Loki’s own for a long moment before he continued. 

"Now put me back together," he growled as his fingers circled the Jotun’s throat.  " _Fuck me_.”

There was something so exhilarating about saying those words out loud rather than in his own head, when he _knew_ Loki had heard them and knew what they truly meant.  He wasn’t playing some twisted emotional game like he knew others had played before; when he said he wanted Loki to fuck him, he _meant it_. 

Loki knew this, and so when he heard those words in a voice lined with gravel, he met Clint’s growl with one of his own, fangs bared in a show of such primal need that Clint couldn’t even feel fear of what those fangs could do.  All he could feel was the thud of his pulse and Loki’s hands on him, gripping him behind each knee and hoisting him off of his feet to press him once again into the wall at his back.  The breath left his lungs with a grunt as they glared into each other’s eyes, and Clint’s fingers slowly tightened around Loki’s throat, fingers digging into the pulse he could even now feel begin to speed up.

"I haven’t even _begun_ to take you apart, my Hawk,” Loki growled, “but I will be more than happy to mend you after I have.”

Clint met Loki’s challenge with a sharp grin and a slow grind against Loki’s hips.  The Jotun’s growl split the air between them, at the friction and Clint’s insolence both. 

Without so much as a word of warning or even a moment to prepare, Loki lined his cock up with Clint’s opening and slammed home with one brutal thrust that had the archer crying towards the ceiling.  His nails dug into the tough skin of Loki’s neck hard enough to draw the tiniest bit of blood, every muscle locked tight at the sudden invasion.

It didn’t even occur to him that they had skipped every bit of preparation, or that Loki could have seriously hurt him.  All he cared about was Loki finally, blessedly _owning_ him, taking what had been his from the very beginning.  He took Loki into his body as he would the stray he’d been calling in from the rain.

 _This,_ Clint thought as he panted through the pain and sudden feeling of fullness, _this is how I could spend eternity._   Not with the timid, skittish thing Loki’s punishment had turned him into, but the greedy, ravenous beast he was born to be.

Loki’s head dropped to Clint’s shoulder and he panted roughly against the archer’s skin.  His tongue ran out to taste the sweat and lust he could smell so clearly, licking a long stripe along his Hawk’s clavicle before nipping another weeping wound into his flesh.  Clint moaned and dug his nails in all the deeper, sending a spike of muted pain down the god’s spine.

"Move," Clint said, his tone strained as he wriggled in Loki’s grasp.  "C’mon…don’t stop now."

A snarl swelled in the Jotun’s throat, and he gave a tentative thrust of his hips.  Loki’s eyes drifted shut in pleasure at the grasping heat encasing his length, and he lifted Clint only to let gravity drag him back down, impaling the archer fully.

Clint swore bitterly in response, and Loki felt a tinge of worry.  He muttered quietly beneath his breath, and suddenly the heat was compounded with a familiar slickness.

"There," he growled, and rolled his hips up, surging all the deeper into Clint’s body.  "Is this what you so craved?"

A sobbing wail was the archer’s only reply, and Loki grinned as he set a brutal pace, thrusting steadily, driving the very breath from Clint’s lungs as he pressed him harder into the wall.

"So eager to be ruined," Loki purred in that low baritone that made his Hawk shudder.  "So compliant when I take what’s mine."

Clint nodded, worrying his lower lip between even, white teeth.  His eyes clenched shut, unable to take the sight of Loki’s narrowed eyes glaring into his own, and he ground his head back into the wall. 

Between the ease at which his god was holding him aloft, and the reverberation of that voice through his chest, Clint was already on the edge.  Every thrust of Loki’s hips just teased his aching cock, caught in the press between their bellies, and he sobbed brokenly, letting every bit of his need drip from the wordless plea.

"And still you want more?" Loki questioned; more of a formality, really, since they both already knew the answer.  The god pressed forward, pushing his throat firmly into the archer’s grasp and causing a slight hitch to his own breath. 

"Beg for it," Loki choked out.  "Ask and ye shall receive, my Hawk."

Clint’s eyes cracked open and sought out Loki’s, his breath hitching at the raw need he could see flickering within.  It hit him all over again just how much Loki craved him, the need to possess him entirely.  He wanted to Clint to tell him just as much as show him how much he was needed in return, to hear his ruined voice singing his praises even as his body danced.

"Just you, Loki," Clint panted, sliding his hands from Loki’s throat into his hair and gripping tightly.  "I want everything you have to give me.  Break me if you have to, fucking ruin me, but stop holding back.  I want _you_.”

It wasn’t until he’d said it out loud that Clint realized what this was all really about.  The frantic need he felt for Loki to let go, coaxing the beast into showing itself;  it was all so that he could remember what he was, because soon enough, he wouldn’t be anymore.  He wanted this brutal reminder that Loki _could_ break him, he was a fragile human nearing the end of his frailty, and he couldn’t think of a better way to go out than being fucked into oblivion by the only creature he’d ever submitted to.

Clint fisted both hands in Loki’s hair and pulled him in until his lips brushed the Jotun’s ear.  “ _Please,_ " he rasped, voice hoarse and ragged from his cries.  "Make me remember what I am, Loki."

Loki snarled and pulled back to glare into Clint’s eyes.  “You are _mine.”_

_"Yes."_

"You wish to be taken apart?"

“ _Please!_ " 

Loki’s hips stuttered to a halt and he searched Clint’s face closely, but all Clint could do was let out a gasping sob and toss his head in frustration.  He writhed in Loki’s grip, pulling and tugging with every bit of strength he had left to get Loki to move, but it was like trying to move a marble statue.

"Loki, _please!_ " he cried, and by that point he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears trailing down his cheeks.  "You said to ask, I’m fucking _begging_ , use me up!”

Loki was still for a few moments longer, and if Clint wasn’t already so far gone he might have seen the battle raging behind those luminous eyes.

Then Loki surged forward, claiming Clint’s mouth in a brutal kiss.

He fought the bloodlust rising in his breast; channeling the feral madness that howled out a war cry to rival any of the beasts Loki had encountered across the realms.  He poured all of this into his kiss, feeling the soft flesh under his hands, the hard press of Clint’s teeth behind those bruised lips.

His Hawk was fragile; defenseless against Loki’s true form, and the god was painfully aware that an errant swipe of his claws, or a bite left unchecked could very well end his human. 

But he was _begging_ …and Loki could never deny Clint in his need.

Loki broke the kiss then, and stepped away from the wall, carrying Clint to the bed and lowering him down to the soft mattress.  He ground his hips deep, teasing another spiraling cry from the archer’s throat before he pulled free and flipped the smaller man onto his belly.

"You want to be used?" Loki asked softly, trailing dark nails down Clint’s spine to tease over the curve of his backside.  "Filled, and fucked and made my whore?"

"Yes," Clint sobbed, arching his hips up from the bed, seeking Loki’s touch.  "Yes, _please_!”

That rumbling purr had returned, and Loki bent low, hovering just above his Hawk, rutting his cock against the swell of Clint’s ass.  “Then use you I will,” he snarled, and gripped Clint’s wrists, pulling them to the small of his back.

He magicked a leather strap into existence, using it to bind Clint’s wrists before he gripped the archer’s hips and dragged them up high.  Loki sat back on his haunches, gaze sweeping over the bound and panting form of his Hawk. 

A surge of arousal swept though him at the sight of Clint; spread and ready and on the verge of release.  His cock twitched, and Loki rose to his feet at the edge of the bed, pulling the smaller man back to meet him.  Slender fingers dug into Clint’s hips, and Loki spread him open with his thumbs, lining up and then slamming home in one swift motion.

Clint uttered a broken wail and spasmed violently; writhing beneath the god as that feral snarl sounded again.

"So… _perfect_ ,” Loki ground out, snapping his hips forward again just to hear Clint’s pleading cry.  “And mine to use.  Remember that, when you are sobbing in the throes of agonizing passion, my Hawk.  Remember that you asked… _begged_ …for this very treatment.”

Clint was finding It difficult to focus on Loki’s words, all he could do was let his body react to the sound of his voice; that menacing growl sending shivers that felt like earthquakes up his spine. 

Never before had he felt so vulnerable, never quite so exposed as he was just then, bound and pinned beneath a half-mad beast snarling for his blood.  This was part of it, as well.  He wanted to show Loki he trusted him, and he wanted Loki to know he could trust _himself._  

Clint knew, in every interaction he had with Loki in his true form, that he was holding some of himself back.  In a way, the archer could understand why it had to be; he was human, and compared to Loki, he was soft and fragile and easily broken beyond repair. 

Except Loki was a pro at goading Clint into giving him every bit of himself, even when the results were less than favorable.  There was nothing of Clint that Loki didn’t already know, he’d flayed himself raw for the god’s asking time and time again.

This was Clint’s way of getting _all_ of Loki, to finally - _finally -_ take back some of his own.  He knew there was no way he could ever get all that he asked for; there was simply too much, and neither of them knew where to even begin, but this was enough.  For Clint, this would _have_ to be enough.

It was surprising even to himself that he’d allowed his hands to be bound.  Not that he’d had much say in the matter, he doubted his protests would have been effective.  But even with his previous… experiences… Clint had never been comfortable being restrained.  It was never something he’d wanted, and even now, something within him was recoiling, his highly-trained mind thinking up countless ways with which to free himself.

He stayed put, however, and let Loki use him as he would.

Loki huffed out a strained breath and released his grasp on Clint’s hips as he held himself deep.  He absently noted the dark bruises blooming on the archer’s flesh; each one crowned with a slowly welling crescent of red.  The god dragged his nails down the backs of Clint’s thighs, watching as welts appeared in his wake and feeling muscles tense under his touch.

"Always so responsive," Loki purred as he slid his left hand up Clint’s spine.  "The slightest touch; the softest bite of pain and you reward me so handsomely.  The sighs and moans; the tremors of anticipation.  All so…welcoming."

Clint whimpered and rocked back against the god, begging with his body for some sort of motion, craving the friction of Loki’s thick flesh.  He was spread wide; pinned down and so fucking _full_.  But he wanted more.

"Please," he gasped out, his voice muffled against the bed.  "Oh god, _please_ , Loki!”

"And still you beg for _more_ ,” Loki murmured, his fingertips biting into the nape of Clint’s neck.  “Is your greed never-ending?”

"Y-yes," Clint stammered.  "Told you I want it all.  Give it to me."

"So demanding," Loki chuckled, and dragged Clint upright, pulling the archer’s back tight to his chest.

Clint uttered a startled cry at the sudden change of position, and then a sharp gasp as the god pulled back his hips before rutting forward, brushing against that hidden spot that washed his Hawk’s vision red.  Loki’s tongue flicked over the shell of Clint’s ear, and the archer shuddered, melting back against the god.  Loki’s right hand stroked over Clint’s chest, even as his left kept the tight hold on his nape. 

"I shall give you what you have earned, My Hawk," Loki rumbled, and his fingers traced a slow line down to circle around the smaller man’s length.

Clint’s head fell back against Loki’s shoulder, biting back a cry, eyes clenched shut until he saw blooms of white and red behind his lids with each thud of his pulse.  His fists, still crossed behind his back, clenched and pulled against the leather bonds.  The muscles of his shoulders strained as he fought against them, for no other reason than to feel how very much at Loki’s mercy he was.  There was no getting out of them, not with Loki’s magic behind them.  Even for as strong a mortal as he was, Clint knew he would only be free when Loki willed it so.

The hand around his cock suddenly clamped down, vice-like and unforgiving, and Clint couldn’t help but buck his hips.  Loki slammed into him from behind and held himself still, until Clint was filled as deep as he could possibly go. 

Clint’s breath came in quick, panting gasps, eyes still shut tight in a grimace of agonized pleasure.  He could feel Loki’s pulse deep within him, and his own throbbing in Loki’s palm.  He could hear it in his breath, rushing in his ears, and even Loki’s constant rumbling growl couldn’t drown it out.

"You wish for me to end you," Loki said into his ear.  It wasn’t a question.

Clint let out a gasping breath and cracked his eyes open, seeing nothing.  “ _Please,_ " he moaned.

"But I am no-where near finished with you, little Hawk."  Loki eased his grip on Clint’s cock just enough to give it a slow, dragging tug. 

Clint whimpered and let his head fall forward.  “I know,” he said.  “You can do whatever you want with me.  Use me up until there’s nothing left.”  He somehow found the leverage to push his hips back, grinding down onto Loki’s cock before pushing up into the tunnel of his fist.  “I’ll still beg, just like you want me to.”

The noise Loki loosed after hearing those words couldn’t properly be described.  His fingers slid from the nape of Clint’s neck to circle his throat.  “There are no words, Clint,” he spoke against the skin of his neck.  “What you do to me with those things you say…”

"Then show me," Clint was quick to demand.  "Let me come, Loki.  Fuck me until I come, and then fuck me some more."

Loki let out a slow, shuddering breath.  It washed hot against Clint’s throat, and the archer whined softly in anticipation.  He knew he was playing a dangerous game; goading the god into action.  But he held his position and waited to see what Loki would do.

That low, rumbling snarl sounded close to his ear, cycling with the Jotun’s breathing in a way that made the hair on Clint’s neck prickle.  He pushed back, rolling his hip slightly as he murmured, “C’mon.  You know you want to feel me spill.  Hot and wet and only for you.”

Loki’s snarl swelled, and he stroked his hand up Clint’s length, loosely circling his fist just under the head.  He moved in short, quick pulls; not tight enough to offer any _real_ friction, but still tease.

Clint groaned, fighting the urge to squirm, to thrust forward and take more than Loki was willing to give. 

"Maddening, isn’t it?" Loki purred.  "To have what you need so very close, and yet, you are being denied the full measure?"

"Please," Clint rasped.  "I’m fucking _begging_ you.  _Please_!”

"And so you are," Loki mused.  "But I do not think you are desperate enough.  Not yet."

Loki continued with the light, teasing strokes, holding his hips utterly still, his length fully encased within Clint’s tight, wet heat.  He drank down the increasingly frantic noises issuing from his Hawk’s throats.  Whimpering sighs, and frustrated moans grew and swelled until finally he sent forth a broken sob and sagged in Loki’s arms.

"There we are," the god growled.  " _Now_ you are truly broken.  _Now_ I can give you what you hunger for…”

And with that, Loki slowly pulled back until just the tip of his cock was pressed against Clint’s entrance.  He paused for a long moment, feeling the tremors running riot through his Hawk’s solid frame before he surged forward. 

The cry Clint loosed was equal parts lust and relief, and Loki hid his grin against the skin of Clint’s shoulder as he set a steady, brutal pace.

"Now you may come for me, my Hawk," Loki cooed, sliding deep only to withdraw just as quickly.  "Show me the depth of your need and _come_.”

The leather wrapped around Clint’s wrists creaked, every muscle straining against his bonds and Loki’s hold.  His body locked down, clamping around Loki’s cock almost viciously enough to hurt, and Loki had to fight to keep Clint upright as his orgasm overtook him. 

Words fell from his mouth, though he couldn’t be sure what exactly he was saying.  All of his focus was on Loki’s still-rigid length buried deep inside of him, his hands holding him against a chest still thrumming with his pleased growls.  Loki’s fist still pumped his length, milking him for ever drop he had to give.  Clint’s head fell forward, and looking down, he could see his own come gilding the dark blue skin, a startling contrast against the ruddy flesh of his cock. 

The sight alone was enough to cause him to throb once more in Loki’s hand, his hips pushing forward even as he began to step down from his climax.

Then, when he thought he’d caught his breath, Loki’s fingers tightened their hold on him, and Clint bit back a cry at the stimulation to his over-sensitive flesh.  Those fingers teased and stroked, and Loki’s hips pumped in counter to the wet slide of skin.  Clint’s flagging hardness began to stiffen once more, and with each pump of Loki’s hips, a tiny, whimpering moan was pulled from deep inside his chest.

"There, my Hawk," Loki murmured into his ear.  "I’ve given you that for which you begged _so_ prettily for.”  His fingers tightened further still, until his fist met Clint’s groin with near-bruising force.  “I will claim my reward now, if you don’t mind.”

"Don’t mind one bit," Clint panted.  "Told you to do whatever you wanted… _however_ you want.” 

"So you did," the god replied softly.  "And what I want _now_ is you on your back.”

A few whispered words, and the leather strap holding Clint’s wrists dissolved into nothing.  Loki slowly pulled free, uttering a low growl at the momentary loss of that tight, cloying heat as Clint sagged forward.  The archer turned, sinking into the soft mattress and massaging the pins and needles from his hands as he gazed up at Loki.

The corner of the god’s lips twitched into a wry smile, and he leaned down, planting one hand next to Clint’s head even as he raised the other to his mouth, licking away the evidence of his Hawk’s lust. 

Clint watched Loki clean himself with his roughened tongue, equal parts aroused and jealous.  He _loved_ that tongue, the way it caught and pulled when Loki ran it along his skin.  He wanted it on _him_ , but he was also enjoying the show.

Loki’s eyes narrowed when he noticed Clint’s focus, and he’d be willing to bet he knew exactly where his thoughts were tending.  Slowly, deliberately, Loki licked his hand from palm to fingertip before swallowing him down.  Clint’s eyes followed the motion of his throat, his own mouth suddenly gone dry.

When Loki had thoroughly cleaned his fingers of every trace of his come, he leaned down and took Clint’s mouth in a possessive kiss.  Clint rose up to meet him halfway, and he shivered when that rough nimble tongue took over his mouth, sharing the taste of himself between them.

"Such a wanton thing you are," Loki purred when he finally pulled back, that ever-present growl in his voice.  His eyes raked over Clint’s body, sprawled out over the dark sheets, bare and spread out just for him.

"You make it pretty easy," Clint returned, laying back once more into the pillows.  "Got all my buttons memorized."

Loki traced Clint’s lower lip with this thumb, momentarily enamored with the feel of soft flesh giving under his touch.  “I do enjoy pressing them,” he allowed. 

He slipped his thumb between Clint’s lips, running the sensitive pad over his teeth and marveling at the contrast.  A contented rumble thrummed in his chest when Clint trapped the wandering digit between his teeth before sucking it deeper into his mouth.  He let his Hawk indulge his oral fixation for a few moments before hooking his thumb downwards, forcing Clint’s jaws open.

Clint’s eyes rolled up to peer into Loki’s just before the god lunged forward to once more claim his mouth in a brutal kiss.  Loki’s other hand slid into his hair, holding him immobile as he plundered Clint’s mouth.  The archer was breathless and writhing within moments, and it wasn’t until he let out a quiet whimper that Loki surged forward, impaling him once more.

"Oh _fuck!_ " Clint cried, tearing himself away from Loki’s mouth, back arching from the bed.

"Yes, my Hawk," Loki murmured against his mouth.  "I intend to."

The god rolled his hips in a slow, sinuous motion; pressing deep as he could before drawing back.  Clint’s body tensed, and Loki could feel the archer’s heartbeat in every part of him, the thunderous rush of blood through his veins, his body vibrating under Loki’s touch. 

He pushed forward again, pausing when he was fully sheathed to search Clint’s lust-hazed eyes.  Satisfied by the need he saw burning within, he withdrew again, setting a teasing pace that soon had his Hawk whining in frustration.

"Please," Clint gasped as Loki ground deep.  "Oh fuck…just… _please_?!”

A sly grin and a cocked head was Loki’s reply before he growled out, “Please, _what_?”

"Harder," Clint sobbed.  "I need you to _fuck_ me, Loki…not _tease_ me half to death!”

"Anticipation builds the pleasure, my Hawk," Loki rumbled as he continued the slow roll of his hips.  "I _could_ release the hold I have on my bestial side and fuck you until you scream for mercy.  And I fully intend to do just that.  Eventually.  But first, this.”

Clint wanted to beg, to plead until Loki gave in and fucked him into a drooling, quaking mess.  But he knew that the god’s wanton streak was only outweighed by his stubbornness. 

Loki did what he wanted, when he wanted, and _how_ he wanted.

So he did the only thing he could; edged his thighs a bit wider and concentrated on the feel of Loki moving within him.

The slow torture continued for several long minutes, the only sound in the room the frustrated sighs and whines of the archer overlaid with the constant purring growl issuing from Loki’s throat.  And just when Clint thought he might go mad from the teasing motions that where just this side of too little, Loki’s growl swelling into a snarl. 

The god pushed himself up to his knees and gazed down at Clint, noting the sheen of sweat gilding the archer’s muscles and the fever-bright eyes glaring up at him.  He was fully hard again; his heavy cock curved up against his lower belly and twitching in need, a bead of moisture glistening at the very tip.

That snarl sounded again, and Loki snapped his hips forward, rutting deep between Clint’s thighs and grinning at the wail that tore from his Hawk’s throat.  He circled one dark-nailed hand around Clint’s arousal and stroked in time with his thrusts, growling out, “And so the beast returns.”

Clint’s hands scrabbled at Loki’s forearms, nails scratching hard enough to rip through anyone else’s skin.  His eyes rolled back into his head as Loki gave him exactly what he wanted.  He could do nothing but lie back and take it, unable to even draw breath.

Loki gave a snarling grin and kept the brutal pace, slamming into Clint until he was sure his hipbones would leave bruises on the backs of his Hawk’s thighs.  His hand slid along the stiff length of Clint’s cock with ease, slicked with the steady dribble of precome leaking down the shaft.

Inside Clint’s head, all thoughts had slammed to an abrupt halt, every bit of him focused on the feeling of Loki rutting into him like some wild thing.  There was no room for anything else but Loki; not his doubts or fears or questions, just this, the friction and heat and the sound and smell of his god finally fully claiming what was his.  Clint couldn’t remember Loki ever taking him this thoroughly before.  There was always a bit of himself that he held back. 

It was equally the fear of harming Clint as it was uncertainty of himself, of being able to _trust_ himself not to go too far.  That fear, however, simply couldn’t stand against Clint begging him to let go.  It was already a struggle to keep himself in check when Clint had no idea how close he already was to breaking, but when his Hawk _pleaded_ to be taken apart beneath Loki’s claws and fangs and cock, well, how was he supposed to control himself?

"You love this," Loki rumbled, watching Clint come undone, helpless and completely within Loki’s thrall.  It was not a question, but a statement tinged with more than a bit of bemusement.

“ _Yes,_ " Clint gasped, eyes fluttering open to meet Loki’s.

"You _begged_ for this,” Loki went on, leaning down until Clint’s insistent length was trapped between them.

"For _you,_ " Clint whimpered.  "Just you, Loki."

"You’ve always had me, my Hawk," Loki said, never once faltering in his rhythm.

"Not all of you," was Clint’s whispered reply.  He took Loki’s face between his hands, an oddly gentle gesture given their current activities.  "But you gave it to me.  Finally.  _God,_ I love you…”

Loki’s heart swelled in his chest at Clint’s quiet admission.  He would never tire of hearing those three words from the man beneath him, and while his softer side yearned to reply in kind, his feral nature was still in full control.  His hips continued on, rutting deep and grinding against that hidden spot that brought his archer to sobs, and he held Clint’s gaze with lust glazed eyes.

His only concession to Clint’s words was the soft smile curving across his face.

"Your love is apparent," Loki rumbled as he plied Clint’s body, driving the archer ever closer to the edge.  "It shows itself in every breath you take; ever tremor that courses through you.  And I have never loved in the way I do now.  The things I feel for you?  There are no words to describe it." 

He paused there, his motions never faltering, never slowing.

"I will let my body speak for me now," he finally continued, his smile swelling into a playful grin.

So saying, Loki hooked Clint’s thighs over his forearms, spreading the archer wide and redoubling his efforts to bring him to ruin.  Each thrust jarred Clint down to the bone; each strained snarl of Loki’s need fanning the flames between them all the higher.

"Will you come for me yet again, my Hawk?" Loki questioned.  "I wish to have you tight and screaming when I find my release…and I am close."

"Anything," Clint sobbed.  "Whatever you want, Loki.  Make me come for you… _please_?”

"As you wish," the god murmured, and bent low over the archer, capturing his mouth in a blistering kiss.

Clint’s hands dove into Loki’s hair, cleaving his mouth against his god’s until his breath ran out.  Still, Clint wouldn’t let him draw back.  It wasn’t as if he was using his lungs anymore anyway, it felt as if every bit of him was about to shatter apart. 

Yes, he was going to come, and it was most likely going to be the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, but even still, it was only a side-effect of what he was _really_ after.  It was always only ever about getting Loki to lower his walls, to let Clint _in,_ in a way that he’d never allowed before.  He didn’t want to be coddled or handled with kid gloves, he wanted Loki to give all of himself, no matter how brutal.

Loki was finally giving him that, after so long; so many nights they’d spent whispering in the dark, telling each other things they could never speak of in the light, there was always _something_ hovering between them, just out of reach.  Clint had tried so many times to convince Loki that he wasn’t afraid of him, that he _trusted_ him, and it stung each time Loki held back. 

There was no holding back now.  Not when Clint could feel Loki’s fangs scraping against his own teeth, that raspy tongue plundering his mouth like it lived there.  Lower still, there was nothing but heat and friction and a quickly-building ache; Clint couldn’t even tell anymore if it was pleasure he was feeling or just knowing that Loki was inside him. 

Then, that bubble of tension finally popped, and Clint’s body locked, every muscle clamped down, and suddenly Clint found breath enough to scream against Loki’s mouth.  Everything was sharp and bright and clear as the sound of glass breaking.  Loki’s answering growl was swallowed up, only to feed the cries steadily leaking from a throat raw with lust.

Loki was speaking, something low and dangerous and beautiful, but Clint couldn’t make out the words, only ride out the storm of his release.

“ _Jeg har ventet for lenge med å dele meg selv fullt ut med en annen,_ " Loki murmured, his voice strained as he fought against the wave of pleasure cresting in his belly.  He was vaguely aware that he’d slipped back into the Old tongue, but his senses were so overwhelmed, awash in the scent and sight and sound of his Hawk that it made no difference _which_ language he was using. 

The message was the same regardless.

“ _Du har mitt hjerte som jeg har deg, min Hawk Kjærlighet overvinner alt;. Så la oss også gi å elske,_ " he gasped out, hips stuttering, losing that brutal rhythm as he tipped over the edge into bliss.

With a final hiss leaking through clenched fangs, Loki let go; utterly and completely, emptying himself deep within his archer’s belly.

Clint’s cries spiraled up at the feel of Loki’s release, so hot that it nearly burned.  He writhed in Loki’s grasp, pitching and twisting, eyes gone wide and locked on to that softly glowing gaze the god was sending his way.  Clint tightened his fists in Loki’s hair, tugging him down and pressing their foreheads together, sharing the same panting breaths.

"Finally," Clint whispered. 

"Yes," Loki replied with a rueful chuckle.  "The beast has been loosed fully, and you survived…with a minimum of injuries."  He leaned in and ran his tongue over the bite-mark adorning Clint’s shoulder, prompting a low groan from the man beneath him.

"Injuries I don’t mind," Clint stated firmly.  "In fact, I sort of like ‘em.  Reminds me I’m yours."

Loki gave him a curious look, cocking his head to the side as his brows drew together.  “Do you _need_ reminding?” he asked.

"Nope," Clint answered.  "Well…not in the way you mean, anyway."

Loki gave a pleased purr and carefully pulled free from the archer’s clenching heat.  He stretched out on his side and pulled Clint against him, resting his head on the smaller man’s chest, listening as his heart calmed.  His gaze fell on the window and the world beyond, the sun now high above the buildings; the sky a brilliant blue.

"The rain has stopped," he said, his eyes drifting shut as Clint’s fingers carded through his mussed hair.

"So it has," Clint murmured.

They lay in silence for several long moments before a crack of thunder rattled the glass in the windowpane.  Loki shoved himself upright, his eyes darting to meet Clint’s.

"Thor," the god whispered.

Instantly, all feelings of languid, blissful afterglow were tossed out the window.

"Oh my fucking— _are you kidding me!?”_ he railed as Loki slid from the sheets.  Clint’s eyes widened and his jaw gaped in slack disbelief as the pale wash of Loki’s normal form took over the Jotun blue.  “Oh, _for fuck’s—!_   Put that back on!”

Loki gave him a startled look as he whisked his clothing into place with a flick of his fingers.  “Are you suggesting I meet with my brother wearing that form?  He has come to accept me as I am, Clint, but that is a far cry from being confronted face-to-face.”

"What?  No!  Just… he has the _worst_ timing in the world.  _All_ of the worlds!”  Clint flailed in the general direction of the bedroom door, which neither had thought to close when they’d returned to bed.

The confusion was plain on Loki’s face as he turned to fully face his ruffled Hawk, still sprawled naked and bloody across the sheets. 

"Were you not just an hour ago lamenting the fact that he hadn’t yet returned?  He will have our answer, my Hawk.  Now come, I am sure you don’t want to meet with him on your back."

Loki strode from the room as if he hadn’t just spent the last half hour riding Clint into the mattress, leaving a very disgruntled archer to roll himself upright and shuffle into the bathroom for a quick wipe-down.  He made sure his grumbles could be heard in the other room so Loki would know, in no uncertain terms, that he was far from happy with Thor’s timing.

As soon as the unappealing mixture of blood and come was cleaned from his skin and he was dressed in fresh clothes, Clint hobbled his way into the living room to see Thor had already been invited in.  He could tell by the way his leonine head was lowered and refused to meet his eye that he was well aware of what had taken place just before he arrived, and was suitably uncomfortable about it.

Good.  That made two of them.

Loki, on the other hand, looked entirely unconcerned, if a bit more smug than usual.

"I apologize for the delay of my arrival," Thor began, and Clint had to give him credit for good acting.  He was doing his damndest to pretend there was no awkward tension in the room.

"No problem, big guy," Clint offered.  Hell, if Thor could crack the ice, he could at least follow his lead.  "So what’s the verdict?  Am I in the club, or am I too squishy to play with the big boys?"

Thor’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Loki had to hide his amused, knowing smile behind his hand.

The blonde god huffed and shifted his weight, the very picture of hesitant unease.  The fingers of his right hand played over Mjolnir’s strap, and still he was silent, seeming to weigh his words.

"So that’s a negative, then?" Clint asked softly.

Loki’s face crumpled, his gaze darting between the two men as he fought to compose himself.  “Thor,” he prodded.  “What did he _say_?  Has Odin refused my request?”

Thor shook his head, eyes still trained on the floor before he murmured, “I am afraid that it is something far worse than an outright refusal.”

Clint’s brow furrowed and he cast a glance at Loki, noting how the dark god had frozen in place, eyes wide as he waited for Thor to continue.

"What’s worse than saying no?" Clint asked.

Thor raised his head, meeting Clint’s eyes for the first time since the archer had entered the room, and Clint didn’t particularly care for the shadowed and weary cast to the Thunderer’s features.

“ _What’s worse than saying no_?” he repeated, a demanding note creeping into his voice. 

"Father wishes to speak with you before he comes to a decision," Thor answered softly.  "He has instructed me to collect you both, and return to Asgard."

Loki muttered something in that guttural language that was fast becoming familiar to Clint.  In fact, he was pretty goddamn sure that the dark god was swearing up a blue streak. 

Something that he felt like doing himself, actually.

"Well," Clint said, running one hand over the nape of his neck and shaking his head.  "Pack a bag, Princess.  Looks like we’re going on a little trip."

Loki gaped at the archer for a moment before asking quietly,” Are you certain that you wish to do this?”

"Not really," Clint replied.  "But hey, guess I gotta meet the parents eventually."

The tension drained from Loki’s face at Clint’s words, and the god gave a slight smile.  “So brave, you are,” he said fondly. 

"Bravery ain’t got jack to do with it," Clint shrugged.  "If this is the only way to get the help we need, then I’m game."

Thor let out a relieved breath that neither Clint nor Loki had been aware the blonde god was holding.  “I was hoping you would be agreeable to this request,” he stated, the hesitant tone gone from his voice.  “If you are ready, we can leave now.  It is advisable to not make Odin wait any longer than necessary.”

"Gotcha," Clint said.  "Don’t want to piss off Daddy before we even gt to plead our case."

"I am afraid ‘Daddy’ is almost constantly ‘pissed off’," Loki stated sourly.

"Well…let’s not make it any worse, then," Clint soothed.  "C’mon Blondie.  Let’s get this show on the road."

Thor nodded and gave a wry smile before calling out, “Heimdall!  Open the Bi-Frost!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know what Loki said while speaking the Old tongue? Simply copy & paste it into Google Translate. It will detect the source language for you, and then you can choose your own language.


End file.
